


False Dawn

by Wiggins



Category: Twilight Series - Stephenie Meyer
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Reincarnation, Alternate interpretation of vampiric bonds, Demisexual Bella Swan, Demisexuality, F/M, Major Original Character(s), Original Character-centric, Self-Insert, This is more of an original character insert than a self-insert.
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-09
Updated: 2017-05-16
Packaged: 2018-09-23 01:44:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 13,038
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9635396
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wiggins/pseuds/Wiggins
Summary: It would be the height of falsity to say that I had never given much thought to how I would die.  I was a morbid kid who grew into a moody teenager, then a depressed adult.  I assumed from a very young age that I would die in a car accident before I hit 25.I was half right.





	1. What's Past is Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> I will tag things as they become relevant. Tagging the ship RIGHT NOW because it's the current endgame ship and I believe in fair warning. This is a writing practice. Please let me know if you would like to see more.

It would be the height of falsity to say that I had never given much thought to how I would die. I was a morbid kid who grew into a moody teenager, then a depressed adult. I assumed from a very young age that I would die in a car accident before I hit 25.

I was half right.

I died at the ripe old age of 26, hit by a car while jaywalking.

I was born into my next life an indeterminate amount of time later. I spent twelve years in blissful ignorance of the fact that when my mother joked about my “old soul” she was hitting a little closer to the truth than either of us would have been comfortable with. In the twelfth year of my new life, I tripped over a curb, hit my head, got a concussion, and woke up with the memories of my previous life crowding my little pubescent brain.

It was awful.

The whole, “you can’t sleep because you might never wake up” thing freaked my mother out something awful, so she settled us together on the couch with a stack of take-out menus only slightly shorter than the stack of romantic comedies she intended to marathon with me. Then the habits of _this_ lifetime took over and instead of having my existential crisis, I focused on soothing her. It helped that I didn’t want to think about all of the memories of past-me. I just wanted to be the me-of-now, the Bella-me.

Roughly 24 hours later, I was staring at my ceiling and trying to reconcile 26 years as Liz Goldstein and twelve years as Bella Swan.

Bella _fucking_ Swan.

I had reincarnated as a fictional goddamn character. If that had to happen, why couldn’t I have been Hermione Granger? Or Sakura Haruno?! Or even freaking Frodo Baggins! I would have taken Hobbitude and _liked_ it, goddamn it!

Anything but whiny, wimpy, _weak_ little Bella Swan.

I took a few deep breaths and, feeling a little calmer, acknowledged that that wasn’t quite fair. I shouldn’t be so hard on Bella. On myself? Dear god, this was confusing. I rolled over and buried my face in my pillow, wincing when the bump on the side of my forehead pressed against the bedspread for a moment.

This was so weird.

I remembered being Bella. I had been nothing but Bella for twelve years. I _was_ Bella Swan. I had just been Liz first. Had S. Meyer written her books about _me?_ We shared a soul. If I had never hit my head and remembered being Liz, would I have eventually grown up to be everything book!Bella had been? That was an awful idea to contemplate. As Liz I had disliked Bella and _despised_ the crappy writing that contributed to her character. But now I _was_ Bella.

I sat up and grabbed a notebook and pen out of my backpack. I had to organize my thoughts and I had always liked making lists, this was true of both Liz!me and Bella!me. I also needed a better way of differentiating my past and present selves without using the third person.

**Stick to the storyline pros and cons?**

**Deviate entirely – what happens?**

**What do I want?**

**Is fate something I need to worry about?**

**VAMPIRES?!**

I stared down at the paper feeling overwhelmed. After a moment or two more of staring down my fantastical possible future, I flipped to the next page and started with a much briefer, _easier_ thesis.

**What do I want?**

This was weird to contemplate in a way that made my head hurt because it made me think about _who_ I was. Was I Liz or Bella? I had both sets of memories, but Liz was… dead. I was Bella now. But I had been Liz for over fourteen years longer than I had been Bella. My head hurt, and the bump was the least of it.

_I want to finish high school with better grades this time around._

_I want to stop being so clumsy._

_I want to be more confident._

_I want to have kids someday._

_I don’t want to become a vampire._

Those felt like good, basic goals. They also felt like a decent mix of me-that-was and me-that-is. There were so many things that had held me back as Liz, and a lot of them just didn’t apply now that I was Bella. There were times I had wished I could have redone the whole school thing and now I could. There were things that, as Bella, had bothered me that – with Liz’s added perspective – now seemed inconsequential.

“I am more than the sum of my parts,” I said out loud. It was weird to hear my own voice, and yet not. This was _my_ voice. It was higher than it had been when I was Liz, but that wasn’t necessarily a bad thing. I looked down at myself and it was strange to see my spindly arms and legs, pale save for where they were dotted with bruises in varying stages of healing. At the same time, it wasn’t strange. This was my body, and it was different from my old body, but that didn’t make it any less mine.

I was clumsy right now, but I didn’t _have_ to be. If I asked, I was sure Renee – my mom – would sign me up for some sort of dance class. Heck, she’d probably want to make it some sort of mother/daughter bonding thing. Confidence would be relatively easy to work on too. Liz’s insecurities did not really overlap with Bella’s, the comparative wisdom and maturity of my old self could be used to shore up my new self. For grades I would be relying on Bella’s work ethic, which was just plain better than Liz’s. My Liz!self could help with focus and direction.

Having kids was not something I needed to worry about anytime soon and as for becoming a vampire… my memory of the books was kind of spotty since I’d read them in high school. That was over eight years away for Liz and two years in the future for me now. Trippy. Regardless, I was pretty sure I had at least another five or so years before I would need to worry about Phil, Forks, vampires, or Edward Cullen.

 

I am Bella Swan, and this is _my_ story.


	2. How to Deal

It would be nice to say that I took Bella Swan’s life by storm, making sweeping changes to improve my situation and become everything I’d always wanted to be.  It would be nice, but definitely inaccurate.  In reality, after that first stint with the notebook, I settled into a sort of fugue state.  I didn’t exactly shut down, it was more like I moved on autopilot.

Get up, dress, eat breakfast, brush teeth, go about the normal business of living, come home, reassure concerned parent that everything is kosher, go to sleep.

Dream.

Wake up, spend anywhere from twenty minutes to an hour attempting to calm down.

Get up, begin again.

I was repressing, and all of those emotions were coming out every time I shut my eyes and went to sleep. I was dreaming of everything that I had lost and it _hurt_.  It felt like something was being torn out of me in great big handfuls.  I would wake up sobbing into my pillow and every _single_ time it happened there was a small, removed part of me that would flash back to the happenings of New Moon, as described by one S. Meyer, and wonder if this extreme outpouring of grief was a side effect of the body - _my_ body - or something intrinsic to the way my soul, the bits of me that were _me_ regardless of fleshy trappings, handled tragedy.

Make no mistake, my death _was_ a tragedy.  I died young.  I died with things unfinished.  I died with goals unrealized.  What’s worse, I left people behind.  I left behind friends, brothers, sisters, nieces and nephews, people I loved and who loved me.  It was hard to tell what hurt worse to contemplate, the knowledge that I would never see them again except in memories or the knowledge of how much my absence must be hurting _them_.

After a week of this, I realized that it wouldn’t get better. It wouldn’t stop.  People were starting to notice the dark circles under my eyes, people like my mother and teachers.  I couldn’t go on this way and so I needed to find a solution.  If repressing wasn’t working, then I would have to deal with it.  I tried to approach it all logically, and it worked - for the most part.  I gave myself an hour, each night before bed, to grieve.

During that hour I would think about my life as Liz and let myself feel. It was awful.  It was… cleansing.  Focused grieving helped me sleep better at night, which in turn let me be more aware during the day.  There were things that triggered my memories during the day, things that made me flinch and stop whatever I was doing and take great heaving breaths.  I know that my mother noticed, but she let me be.

Renee was a very hands-off parent, deliberately so. I could tell that she was actively trying to foster independence.  It wasn’t, as the teen Bella as written by S. Meyer had supposed, an accident or quirk of Renee’s inability to properly parent.  This was a feature, not a bug.  Renee, I realized after a small amount of observing and a good deal of remembering, wanted me to be able to take care of myself not because _she_ didn’t want to take care of me, but because she didn’t want me to _need_ to be reliant on anyone.

The amateur psychologist in me wondered if this had anything to do with her marriage to, and subsequent divorce from, Charlie. I considered it for a time, but ultimately decided it wasn’t really my business.  Yes, they were my parents, and I loved them, but it was _their_ relationship with each other.  They hadn’t let it affect me, which was actually impressive.

My second set of parents had really nailed the whole ‘divorce’ thing.

My first set _really_ should have given it a try.  I had loved them, but I didn’t need to grieve them the way I did the rest of my family.  For one thing, they’d been dead for a few years.  For another, they’d been kind of shitty parents.  My oldest brothers had had more influence on my formative years than my parents had.  It made it a lot easier to accept Renee and Charlie as my parents.  I didn’t feel like I was betraying anyone when I thought of them as my mom and dad.  I don’t think it would have been as easy if I’d had to contend with a sibling or two as well.

All things considered, once I’d had a little more time to come to terms with things, I had to admit that - if I had to reincarnate as a Twilight character - I could have done worse. Hadn’t Alice ended up in an asylum due to her human psychic abilities?  Hadn’t Rosalie ended up in an alley, abused to the point of death?  If the worst thing I had to contend with in this life was a whiny vampire boy who, judging by what I recalled of the film’s characterization of him, had a guilt complex a mile wide that I could easily use to drive him off, then I would be fine.

I would make sure that I was fine. No, not fine, good - _great_ , even.

First things first: be less clumsy.

The next morning, at breakfast, I took the first step towards real change: “Mom, can I take dance lessons?”

Renee froze, mid-bite, and stared at me over her spoon. “You… want to take dance lessons?”

I flushed under her incredulity. “It would be _really_ nice to not trip everywhere,” I told her quietly.

She gave me a small smile. “Oh honey,” she said, reaching out to brush some of my hair back.  “Have you thought about what kind of dance you’d like to try?”

I really hadn’t, so I shrugged.

“Well,” Renee said, “if your aim is to be more coordinated, and you don’t really have a preference, I bet we could find you something at the local gym.”

And that’s the story of how I, a klutz in two lifetimes, somehow ended up signing up for gymnastics classes.

This would not be pretty.


	3. Slow and Steady

It really wasn’t pretty.

The first thing they taught us was how to fall. I suppose that, if I took nothing else from the experience, the falling lessons would at least be useful.  I stuck with the classes, in spite of the tripling and - after particularly unfortunate lessons - sometimes quadrupling of my average bruise count.  It didn’t help that I bruised like a peach.  My skin was incredibly fair, nearly a blue-white under fluorescent lighting.  Honestly, I thought that even without the bruises I looked kind of creepy. _With_ the bruises I looked like one of the ghost children Osment saw in The Sixth Sense.

My face and figure seemed like a near-perfect blending of Renee and Charlie. I had Charlie’s big brown eyes and dark hair, Renee’s loose waves, fair skin, and her _height_.  This was probably the physical change that bothered me most between lifetimes.  I had been _tall_ as Liz.  I had been just barely shy of six feet and I _loved_ it.  My shoulders and hips were broad, I had a decent hourglass-type figure, and I could be physically intimidating when I wanted to be.  Men were less likely to mess with a woman that looked like she could hold her own and even if I never threw a punch in my life, I was still a big girl who had the _appearance_ of being strong.  It had given me confidence when wandering the city alone because, to be blunt, at nearly six feet tall and roughly 180 pounds, a lone mugger or criminal would have had to really work for it if they tried to drag me off somewhere secluded.

Now, though? Judging by Renee, I would be _lucky_ to hit 5’7.  I was built along much slimmer lines, bordering on delicate.  My big eyes and cupid’s-bow lips leant me a doll-like appearance.  I was fucking _cute_.  It suddenly made much more sense to me why so many teen boys had swarmed S. Meyer’s Bella when she was fresh off the plane in Forks.  I looked like the kind of helpless that made a man feel needed and strong.

It really made me appreciate Renee’s subtle insistence on independence and it made me look at her with new eyes. We looked a lot alike, though she had sandy blonde hair and bright blue eyes.  Prior to my ‘wake up’ with all of Liz’s memories, I had been embarrassed when I was out with my mother and men hit on her - something that happened on a regular basis - but now I felt more defensive of her.  I started paying more attention to what was happening instead of wandering a short ways away and letting her deal with it.  If the guy seemed pushy or my mom looked the slightest bit uncomfortable, I would step in.

The first time this happened, Renee was nonplussed.

The second time, she looked concerned, but didn’t say anything.

The third time, she took me aside.

“Are you okay?”

I wasn’t sure how to respond. “I’m fine, but you looked annoyed,” I told her.

She was still eyeing me speculatively. “You used to get uncomfortable.”

This time I couldn’t help but roll my eyes. “You weren’t _looking_ for his attention, why would I be embarrassed? _He_ should be embarrassed.  He was a pr - ”  I coughed.  “He seemed like a jerk.”

“Did something happen with a boy at school?”

“ _Mom_.  No, nothing has happened.”

I barely interacted with anyone who wasn’t teacher-shaped at school.  I didn’t see any need to change that.  This time around, I was highly focused on my studies and highly motivated.  Plus, even if I was a twelve year old, with all the hormonal crap that that entailed, I had Liz’s added perspective which helped me remember that 90% of the social posturing that happened in middle and high school was bullshit.  I was something of an introvert in both lives and had enough to deal with already.  I planned to reach out… eventually.

Renee was still staring at me, so I tried to explain some of my thought process. “I guess I just realized that you can’t help being pretty and how men react to you.”

“Huh. That’s very mature of you.”

I wrinkled my nose. “Thank you?”

She scrubbed a hand over my head, mussing my hair. “My little adult,” she said affectionately.

_You have no idea_ , I thought, more amused than bitter.

It was funny, in a weird way, but remembering having shitty parents as Liz really improved my relationships with both Renee _and_ Charlie.  I never doubted that either of them loved me, even if they had drastically different ways of showing it.  Charlie was much more introverted than even I was, and definitely nowhere near as good with his words.  I started trying to reach out more, keep him more up-to-date with what was going on in my life.

He was even more surprised than Renee had been when I told him about my gymnastics classes. I sent him the equivalent of a three page email.  He sent me a tub of bruise-balm and a three sentence response.  I complained to him that I was bored with the book selections my teacher was making (the phrase ‘dead white guys’ may have been used) and he sent me a list of the required reading from the school on the local Rez (significantly more representation).  He was an awkward phone conversationalist, but I always felt like he was _listening_.

It was _awesome_.

Some nights, after my requisite mourning hour, I would lie awake and stare at the ceiling, remembering the books and S. Meyer’s Bella and just… marveling. _How could you give this up so easily? How could one person come to mean so much to you that you would literally give up everything?_   It made no sense to me and, as time went by, I started to wonder just how much of _The Twilight Saga_ was an accurate representation of reality, and how much of it was artistic license.  How had S. Meyer seen this - _my_ \- story?  If I recalled correctly, she had said in at least one interview that Edward came to her in a dream.  Here I was, though, and I was not the Bella that S. Meyer wrote.  I could have been, but remembering being Liz had changed me and that meant that the story she wrote would no longer be accurate.  Or that it had never been accurate?  I refused to think of her novels as the ‘canon.’  This was _my_ life, _I_ was “canon!Bella.”

There were things in the books that had never made much sense, that were obviously plot-driven choices S. Meyer had made in order to tell the story that she wanted to tell. I was faced with the idea that, if I was right and some of the stranger aspects of the novels and movies had been informed by artistic license and not reality - then how much of what I thought I knew would be applicable?  What else might she have changed? I eventually decided that I couldn’t assume anything.  When the time came, I would do my best to go in with my mind, and my eyes, wide open.

Ultimately, I decided that fussing over what might be this far in advance was just borrowing trouble. High school would be hard enough even without the possibility of vampires and werewolves and love triangles, oh my!  I would be better off focusing on the life I was living _right now_ and would leave off worrying about what _might be_ until it got a little closer.

In the meantime, there was gymnastics and Renee and Charlie, dealing with my grief and growing up all over again. My cup runneth over.


	4. Forks and Knives

The end of sixth grade came along a lot faster than I’d expected.

Which meant summertime.

Which meant a visit to Charlie.

Which meant Forks.

I didn’t think the vampires would be there yet but I needed to sit down and figure out a vague timeline. For my own sanity, I decided to refer to the person depicted in S. Meyer’s books who was _definitely not me_ as ‘IMS.’ It would probably be easier to refer to the rest by their initials as well. What did I remember about the so-called Saga?

IMS moves to Forks at seventeen, in January. Unless I skipped a grade or failed a grade, each equally unlikely, I’d turn seventeen during the first month of my junior year of high school. EAC and some of the other members of his family were also juniors at that point. They tried to start early so they could stay in one place for a longer period of time, but IMS never met them during her visits to CS. Sometime after IMS stopped visiting Forks, EAC and family moved in, then IMS moved to Forks during junior year, and then plot commenced.

Depending on how accurate my knowledge of this world was didn’t seem like a good idea. Renee wasn’t a direct match with her book counterpart, and I sure as hell wasn’t either. I had no real idea how much I could rely on S. Meyer’s depictions of the vampiric characters’ personalities or motivations. Maybe they didn’t even exist. Maybe I was blowing this entirely out of proportion. Maybe this was all a coincidence.

Maybe I was crazy.

My forehead made a soft ‘thock’ noise as it hit my desk and I groaned, long and loud. There were two ways to treat this: I could either plan my life around the assumption that my book knowledge was entirely accurate or I could scrap it, for the most part, and just make the choices I _wanted_ to make. Either way I would have to live with the consequences. The _safest_ bet was probably to start finding ways of avoiding Forks now and never return there _ever_. I could avoid the plot of the books entirely.

But did I really want to give up my visits to Charlie?

It would break his heart.

It would break _my_ heart.

I had parents in this life, real parents, ones who loved me like I loved them. They were the two people I was most emotionally invested in in this lifetime. That had been true before I remembered being Liz, and it was especially true afterwards since the trauma had made me withdraw from what few little friendships I had. There were a few girls in gymnastics that I liked and would call friends, but I’d been holding everyone but my parents at arms-length while I sorted myself out. Renee and Charlie were easily the two most important people in my life right now and I was sure that, even once my Liz-inspired appreciation for them wore off, that would remain true.

Charlie was my dad, he loved me, and we didn’t see each other that often. The summers were precious to him, to us. I honestly couldn’t think of anything that would make me want to stop visiting him. Forks was kind of dull and I had been bored while he was at work during my past visits, but that was as much my fault as his. If I told him I needed something to do, I was _certain_ he’d help me figure it out. Worst came to worst, the town had a library. I could at least read or surf the web or _something_ while he worked.

Not only that, but Forks tended to get most of its sun during the summer months. It was entirely possible that I could go the entire visit without ever once seeing the Cullens. They probably didn’t even spend much, if any, time in Forks during the summer. My bet was that they hightailed it out of town the minute they had the excuse to get away from the school. It’s what _I_ would have done.

It would be so stupid to go to Forks before I hit junior year.

It would be so cruel to stop visiting Charlie, my _dad_.

This was my life.

It was my choice to make.

 

* * *

 

It was _so weird_ the first time I saw Charlie in-person after remembering. For one thing, he looked unusually grumpy. This was probably due to the fact that he had lost the argument with my mother regarding whether or not I was old enough to fly solo. I had been the one pushing for it, but mom was the one who had to make the bulk of the arguments. The main reason it was weird to see Charlie again was the perspective shift I’d gone through as I integrated my memories.

He looked _tired_.

He was already the sheriff, I vaguely remembered when he’d been promoted, but it clicked for me that he had a metric ton of responsibilities. Forks might be a sleepy town, but it was still large enough to have a measurable crime rate and close enough to larger cities to have some trickle-over. How difficult would it be if I demanded he visit me instead of the other way around? How much vacation time would he have to use? How much planning and preparation would have to go into an absence of that length?

Those were his choices as my dad, but I was aware of them now and I knew in that moment that I would never – could never – do that to him.

“Dad!” I hollered, and sprinted for him.

The grumpiness was replaced with a smile and he opened his arms wide for me to fly into them, wrapping me in a bear hug that lifted me clean off the ground. “You’ve grown,” he said, and for the first time I caught the faint undertone of sadness in his voice.

“Three whole inches,” I confirmed. “Now put me down, dad, people are starting to stare!”  I was starting to blush because _that_ involuntary response had a hair-trigger and unfortunately I was easily embarrassed.

“There’s my Bells,” he chuckled. He ruffled my hair the instant I was solidly planted, tousling my already plane-mussed waves even further. “I’m glad to see you, kiddo. I don’t have a lot planned for your visit, but I’m off at least one day every week you’re here, plus weekends.”

We were already heading to his car – the cruiser, of course – since I still had clothes here from last year. I could easily pack enough supplementary clothing for a month-long stay in my carry-on luggage. The instant we were outside, I took a deep breath. The air was so much thicker here, almost like you could choke on it. It took a while to get used to each time I visited but it was worth it.

I shrugged in response to Charlie’s reassurances. “It’s ok, dad. I can find stuff to do. You can take me to the library sometimes so I can read, and I was thinking about trying to teach myself German, and –“

“Slow down, Bells!” he said, laughing a little.

Being twelve was _awful_. Puberty was hell on my moods. I’d gone from elated to thoughtful and now _embarrassed_ in the span of mere moments. “I’m just really happy to see you,” I muttered, staring down at my shoes.

“I’m happy to see you, too. You know who else is excited to see you?” Charlie asked, shooting me a sly look that was vaguely worrying. We tossed my stuff into the backseat and he – public servant to the nth degree – double and triple-checked my seatbelt before even sticking the key in the ignition.

“Who?”

“Jacob, well, all the Blacks, but mostly Jacob.”

Shit. I forgot about the werewolves.


	5. Prelude to a (dad) joke

Between one thing and another, I hadn’t actually seen the Blacks in a few years. Last year I had caught chicken pox right before my usual visit and Charlie had taken the time off to come see me for a week. I’d managed another week with him toward the end of the summer, but we’d spent most of it together either in Port Angeles or fishing. Spoiler alert: I hadn’t much enjoyed the fishing. The year before that the Blacks had been scarce due to the death of Sarah Black. I remembered mourning her and being worried for the Blacks, but I’d been ten and I understood why Charlie had wanted to keep me away both for my sake and, more importantly, theirs.

I was almost certain that, had I not remembered my past life, this would have been the summer when I put my foot down and stopped visiting Charlie. My memories of the fishing trip were pretty vivid. I hadn’t been an outdoorsy person when I’d been Liz, and Bella was a city girl through and through. Fish guts were bad enough, but the time I’d gotten the hook caught on my arm…

I looked down at the faint line that crossed the back of my forearm and shuddered.

“Don’t worry, Bells. No fishing this year, I promise.”

“Are you promising me or did you promise mom?”

His mustache twitched and he sighed deeply, hands briefly tightening on the wheel. “Your mother,” he admitted. “She was… concerned.”

I giggled at the look on his face. “That’s kind of a relief. I love you, dad, but I don’t love fishing.”

Charlie blinked a few times, then shot me an unreadable look out of the corner of his eye. “I love you too, Bells,” he said a bit gruffly, reaching over and tousling my hair again.

“Dad!” I ducked his hand as best I could. “Ten and two, dad! Ten and two!”

“So,” he said a few minutes later, “I know you’re probably tired, but I thought we could swing by the Rez on the way home and have dinner with Billy and whoever’s home. You up for that?”

They weren’t werewolves yet, but adolescents were a terror all their own. Jacob was – if I recalled correctly – either ten or eleven and his sisters were probably fourteen. I hadn’t seen any of them in a few years so this was bound to be awkward no matter what. Maybe it would be better if I could blame the long trip for any social missteps.

Charlie was glancing at me, gauging my interest. “We can go straight to the house, sweetheart –“

“No, it’s fine. It’ll be nice to see everyone,” I said, pasting a smile on my face.

“If you’re sure –“

“I’m sure.”

I really wasn’t.

* * *

 

 The sun was just starting to set when we pulled up to the Blacks’ place. There were trees everywhere, not surprising since their house was practically surrounded by the forest. Most of the houses I’d seen were like that – scattered here and there throughout the trees. There was a main thoroughfare where the majority of the shops, the school, and tourist traps were located, but those were closer to the highway. There were also a few places where groups of houses clustered together, but nothing that my Phoenix-acclimated brain could see as a subdivision or ‘neighborhood.’

My muscles were tight from the trip and I was stretching as soon as I was out of the car. Even so, the sound of the door opening and a voice calling out had me stiffening up all over again for entirely new reasons.

“Bella Swan, that can’t be little bitty Bella!”

“Hi, Billy,” I said, turning and giving him a small smile and a wave. He had always had long black hair, twinkling eyes, and the biggest, friendliest smile I’d ever seen. That hadn’t changed in two years. He looked a little more tired than he’d been the last time I saw him, but I think it’s safe to say that unexpected single parenthood probably does that to a person.

“Don’t I get a hug?” he asked, miming being wounded, one hand clutching at his chest.

I _was_ shy, but he _wasn’t_ a stranger. I knew him.  Even if part of me felt like I was meeting this man for the first time, there was another, louder part of me that remembered his hugs and his smile and laughter and warmth.  “Of course,” I said, and this time my smile was a bit bigger, more genuine. Billy gave excellent hugs. Being wheelchair-bound made his arms and shoulders stronger even than my father's, but it felt safe. He hugged like Charlie hugged, and I relaxed into it instantly.

“That’s better, now let me get a look at you,” Billy said, pushing me away gently and looking me over.  He shook his head and tsked, "You better get your shotgun ready, Charlie. She’s already pretty but she’s definitely gonna be a looker.”

My face heated immediately. “Billy!”

Charlie ignored my indignant cry entirely, studying me alongside his friend. “When did you start to get all grown up?” he said, more to himself than to me, I think. Then, clapping Billy on the shoulder, he added: “It’s a good thing I know how to hide a body, isn’t it?”

“Dad!” I had no idea what to do with the overprotective dad routine; I didn’t have any experience with it, not in either of my lives. Getting it from two sources, all at once, was a little overwhelming. “You don’t need to worry about boys, _geez!_ ”

They exchanged a look.

“Girls, then?” Billy asked, sounding serious even if his eyes were doing that twinkle thing again.

For a fraction of a second I felt an instantaneous denial bubble up but – well, I didn’t really know, did I? Might as well start laying the groundwork now. I fiddled with a lock of my hair, not meeting either of the two sets of eyes trained on me. “I don’t know,” I admitted, shrugging. “But _maybe_ , if you promise not to _embarrass_ me, I’ll tell you when I meet somebody I like!”

“You do that,” Charlie said gently. A moment later he coughed, and the tableau shattered as he turned back to Billy. “Where’re _your_ troublemakers? I would have thought Jake would be out here by now, at least.”

“Wasn’t sure you were coming, so I didn’t tell ‘em you might make your way over here,” Billy said. “The girls are at a slumber party and Jake headed to the beach with some friends a few hours ago. He should be back before too long, might even drag a few of those knuckleheads with him.”

By ‘those knuckleheads’ I assumed he meant Quil and Embry. I had vague memories of playing with them during past visits, and slightly more vivid memories of their fictional counterparts going wolfy and backing Jacob Black every step of the way.

“Well, we’re here – you gonna feed us?”

Billy rolled his eyes.  “Come on in, take a load off. I was gonna order pizza.”

“Sausage and bacon?” I asked, following him as he spun in place, then wheeled up the ramp to the door.

“Is there any other way to eat pizza?”

The house was nice. It was obvious that teenagers lived there, but not in a bad way. There were shoes stacked haphazardly by the door and the detritus of various lives lived in close proximity scattered about on the kitchen table and nearby living room couch. Two identical backpacks were spitting forth a multitude of books on varying topics over by the television and there was a stack of comics on an end table beside a couple of glasses.

Billy waved Charlie and me over to the kitchen table. It was a relief to sit on an actual chair and not in some sort of ergonomically designed seat for long distance travel. The sigh I let loose was neither quiet nor subtle, and it drew a laugh from both men.

“Sleepy, Bells?”

“A little.”

“You can nap on the couch while we wait for the pizza,” Billy offered.

I was moving before he finished the sentence, setting off another round of chuckles. The couch wasn’t exactly old, but it was definitely broken in. I yanked a light blanket off the back and settled in. I didn’t expect to actually fall asleep but I shut my eyes staring at an off-white ceiling and opened them, what felt like moments later, to three sets of big brown eyes staring at me.

I yelped, they grinned, and thus I was reintroduced to Jacob, Embry, and Quil.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Obviously Bella is already going 'off-book,' but the really important canon divergences won't start for a few more chapters. At this point I've realized that there are a couple of springboard points where I could go multiple ways with this. _This_ story is definitely endgame Bella/Edward, but would anyone be interested in a spin-off pairing this Bella with one of the 'wolves? I'm leaning towards Sam or Paul, but would like to hear your opinions.
> 
> 1) Would anyone be interested in an imprint-focused spin-off?  
> 2) Would anyone be interested in seeing other POVs and perspectives on various scenes?  
> 3) I have ideas for OC-centric/reincarnation/fell-in stories for the Harry Potter and Naruto universes, would there be any interest in those?


	6. Relocated

“Hi,” I said, sitting up. My anxiety over being face-to-face with the future wolf pack of La Push was quickly dispersing any lingering grogginess from my nap. I looked at them and they looked at me and – they were so _young_.

I’ve always believed that age is just a number; it’s life experiences that matter and give a person perspective. Put another way, it’s not the years of your life, it’s the life in your years. I was twelve years old, with the memories of an additional life – and death - on top of that. I had perspective in _spades_. It made me different from my peers and up till now, that had never upset me. I had considered it an advantage.

But facing these three ten year olds suddenly made me feel sad and _tired_ in a way that couldn't be explained by mere jet lag.

In another life, we could have grown up together.

But I had already grown up once, as Liz, and I couldn't exactly unlive those years, unhave those experiences.

In this life, I could see us becoming friends but it wouldn’t be –

There was a hand waving and snapping in front of my face.

“Hel _lo_ , anybody in there?” Jake said, squinting at me.

“Is she… ok? Like, in the head?” Embry whispered to Quil.

“Boys! Leave Bella alone!” Billy called.

“But you said – “

“I told you to wake her when the table was set.” I could practically _hear_ his eyebrow rising. “Is the table set?”

“No –“

“Should you be bothering her?”

“No –“

“What _should_ you be doing?”

Jake sighed noisily. “I’ll get the napkins,” he said, and then looked to Quil, “you get the plates,” and Embry, “and you get the silverware.”

“I can grab drinks?” I offered. He smiled at me and it really was a ridiculously sunny smile. S. Meyer had gotten that right, even if the rest of it remained to be seen. “Sorry about earlier,” I added. “I’m still a little tired from the trip.”

“S’ok, Bells,” Jake told me. “It’s good to see you,” he added quickly, then grabbed Embry and Quil by the arms and dragged them off to the kitchen.

I’d like to say that I snapped out of my funk and instantly befriended all three boys but I spent the rest of the night quiet and stuck in my head, morose over the life I could have had if it weren’t for these memories. Remembering Liz had given me a greater appreciation for Charlie and Renee, it had changed the course of my future irrevocably and for better or for worse. I had seen the better bits; it was only natural that I would start getting the ‘worse.’

Charlie noticed my flagging mood and we left shortly after dinner. “You okay?”

I nodded, staring out the window into the dark trees as we sped past. “Just tired.”

“We’ll be home soon.”

I nodded again. “Dad?”

“Yeah?”

“I’m glad I’m here.” It was true. Even if these new memories of an old me had changed my perspective on a lot of things, they hadn’t changed my love for my parents. Perhaps they’d made it stronger.

“Me too, Bells. Me too.”

* * *

 

Keeping to his promise, Charlie and I did not go fishing even once, but we did take a few day trips to Port Angeles. We talked – or, more accurately, he listened while I talked about whatever came to mind while offering occasional questions and commentary. It was nice.

I switched between going to the library while Charlie worked and going to La Push. The library was lovely – quiet, since it was summertime, and full of books and unlimited Internet access. I had a lot of fun looking up mainstays of my first childhood and rereading histories. I was trying to find the boundaries of this world, trying to figure out just how much it differed from my first. Certain pop stars and films I’d grown up loving just didn’t exist here. Certain historical events were different from what I remembered, or thought that I had remembered. I hadn’t exactly been the best student of history, so it was difficult to say exactly how much the world’s events had been changed. All of the countries I was used to seeing on the news still existed, though central Europe had a slightly different map and a few extra nations.

But there were things that _were_ different.

Somebody in the know, not me, could have written entire _books_ on the topic of how vampires and the supernatural had impacted the development of human civilization. I wondered if any of the vampires had written down memoirs or journals, or considered publishing them. Why would a vampire wait to be interviewed when, with the marvels of the modern age, they could blog about their experiences in a fictionalized format with none the wiser?  Or self-publish?

My priorities, I will admit, were kind of skewed.

The time spent in La Push was very different. Jake, sweet, stubborn Jake, had decided that I was shy and needed to be pulled out of my shell. The galling thing was that he wasn’t _entirely_ wrong. It took a few visits for me to pull my head out of my ass and quit my self-pitying spiral. What it really took was Jake busting out his video game console and inserting a cartridge with very familiar mustachioed plumbers pictured on the front.

I don’t want to say Jake solved my problems with Mario Kart, but…

Jake kind of solved my problems with Mario Kart.

The instant one of them threw a blue shell I was transported to the last time I’d seen my nieces and nephews. They had ranged in age from two to fourteen when I died. I had been something between beloved aunt and cool older sister/cousin to the eldest of them, something a bit more momlike to the middle set – especially my sister’s kids – and then segued back into typical auntie territory for the youngest ones once I’d really started branching away from my siblings and living my own life.

But in remembering them, in that moment, and the countless times I'd sat on couches, floors, chairs, playing video games or reading or just _playing around_ with them, it was like somebody set off a firework in my skull: _I could do this_. I knew how to interact with people this age – _my_ age – I’d been doing it as Liz and the same rules could apply to Bella. Hell, I’d been the mom friend for my peers and a kickass auntie, why couldn’t I use those experiences to connect with Jake, Quil and Embry?

I smiled at Quil, the caster of blue shells, and he had the good sense to look a little alarmed. “Oh, it’s on like Donkey Kong,” I told him, and proceeded to thoroughly own all three of them.

After that, it was surprisingly easy to just _be_ around them, without feeling like I needed to self-monitor my every word and deed. As I loosened up, so did they, and I learned a lot about the three boys. I learned that Jake loved his sisters, but he didn’t like them all that much – not that I could blame him, from what little I saw of them they weren’t exactly very home or family oriented. I learned that Embry was the quiet one, very thoughtful and considerate especially for a ten-year-old boy. I learned that Quil was an utter goofball who could and _would_ see humor in literally anything.

Because of the boys, I also learned that the ocean could be cold even on the hottest summer days. I learned that even after my gymnastics training, there were still all sorts of ways to get bruised and scratched and fall down. They tried to teach me about nature, the little things people who grow up surrounded by trees just _know_ , but I was an indifferent student at best.

“Gimme my concrete jungle,” I told them on one rainy day. “Nature is so…” I wrinkled my nose, unable to come up with the proper adjective.

“Natural?” Quil offered, grinning.

I stuck my tongue out at him.

“It’s okay, city girl, we won’t let you get lost in the woods,” Embry told me.

Jake didn’t say anything at all, just reached over and rubbed his knuckles over my skull in spite of my indignant squawking.

“Why does everybody _do that?_ ” I whined, having to redo my ponytail.

“Your big head is just too full of thoughts, Bells.  Sometimes it just needs to be noogied,” Jake said solemnly.

I chucked a book at him.

* * *

 

The month flew by. While I was sad to leave my dad, I was excited to see my mom again. I had missed her. It didn’t hurt to miss her the way it hurt to miss the people I remembered from my prior life, but it hurt all the same.

It felt like something in me had settled, somehow, during my time in Forks. Maybe it was the fact that I’d made friends, actual connections outside of Renee and Charlie. Maybe it was the fact that, though I would never forget them, I wasn’t mourning my old family in quite the same way. Maybe I was finishing adjusting to the memories of Liz. I don’t know what it was exactly, but I felt _lighter_ somehow.

Saying goodbye to Charlie sucked regardless.

“I’ll miss you, dad.”

He hugged me tightly, not saying anything for a few minutes.

“Dad, they’re starting to board my section.”

He sighed and then let go, taking a step back. “Be good,” he told me, tapping my nose. “No more tripping on curbs.”

Considering what happened the _last time_ I tripped on a curb…

“I’ll do my best.”


	7. Ch-ch-ch-ch-ch-chaaaaaanges!

The rest of my summer was largely uneventful. I hung out with Renee, did a summer gymnastics course, and continued to read voraciously. I was still working on teaching myself German, which was going a little better reading-wise than speaking-wise. The sounds were guttural and thick and I –

Well, I kind of had a shyness problem. Sort of.

Over the last few months I had come to realize that, while giving me added perspective, my sudden remembrance of my prior life had also given me a lot of _baggage_. It was strange how the differing aspects of myself had mixed. The merger canceled some of my more extreme traits out but others were ridiculously exacerbated. My bluntness as Liz made me more forthright as Bella.  My tendency to overthink as Liz combined with my natural introspective bent as Bella and made me largely inscrutable. I'd been quiet before, but now I was positively closed-off to everyone except my family and the very few people I allowed in.  It was, in retrospect, rather lucky that I went through this dramatic shift at twelve because adolescents were prone to pretty big hormonal changes _because puberty_.

And puberty decided to hit me in the face with a fistful of rocks shortly after my visit to dad in Forks. It sucked the first time around; it was almost worse the second. Just because I knew _why_ my face was breaking out in greasy spots, I felt bloated, and _nothing fit_ , it didn’t mean that I was able to face it any more gracefully. It didn’t help that my mother’s reassurances weren’t all that reassuring.

She actually _laughed_ at me!

“Oh, honey, you’re taking after me.” The sympathetic tone she adopted did nothing to hide the fact that the corners of her mouth were hiking up her face. “Dwyer girls get the rough stuff over faster, but we also get all the bad stuff all at once. You’ve probably got another year or so of this –"

I couldn’t help it, I whined piteously.

Renee snorted, smoothing my hair back from my (spotty, greasy, gross-feeling) face. “But after that year is over you’re going to be done. Mostly. I grew a few more inches in college, but that was basically it. I know it sounds awful, but it’s actually more convenient to get all the hard stuff out of the way quickly.”

Internally, I compared this with what I’d experienced as Liz and had to admit, albeit reluctantly, that she was probably right. Puberty had been a long journey, originally. I got hips at twelve, height at fourteen, and boobs at sixteen. Smashing all of that into a year or so instead sounded nice in theory.

In practice it was a _goddamn nightmare_.

Everything _hurt_ , nothing _fit_ , I was going thrift shopping with Renee what felt like every weekend in an attempt to keep all of my pants from looking like highwaters and all of my shirts from stretching obscenely over my growing chest. Getting a little taller was awesome, and I was thrilled to see, and then surpass, 5’2, 5’3, and even 5’4. Flipside, my bones ached and I was eating constantly. It seemed like every bite I put in my mouth made spots bloom over my face, my chest, my back – acne was awful, growing up again sucked, and I desperately wished I could fast-forward this part of my life.

My prior plans, to start reaching out to people more in the next school year, were washed away by this highly personal drama. I felt awful almost constantly, I didn’t exactly feel in the mood to make friends. I stuck with the gymnastics because I needed the extra help in figuring out balance and movement what with my body feeling like it was exploding in all directions. For the most part, my people skills were used, abused, and used _up_ during those thrice-weekly classes. Other than that, I stayed quiet in school and kept my whining for my mom and dad.

Renee was amused but helpful, Charlie was uncomfortable but supportive. I sent off emails to the boys every so often, but eleven-year-old boys don’t make the best correspondents. Plus, it wasn’t like I was going to complain about training bras and tampons to _them_. That was a recipe for disaster and embarrassment.

Aside from my puberty woes, the next year or so was mostly uneventful. There was one big thing that impacted my life, and it started off seemingly innocuous – not even my prior knowledge of the books S. Meyer wrote could have helped me see just how impactful it would be. In December I was invited to take a placement test. My teachers had all noticed how my grades had improved. My English teacher from last year had, apparently, collaborated with my current teacher and both agreed that I had shown such marked improvement in my writing that they had, in turn, spoken with my others teachers and… they thought I should skip a grade. Maybe even two.

I was thrilled, Renee less so. The truth of the matter was that I was bored in class and I already didn’t have many, if any, friends. Moving up wouldn’t hurt me socially and it would help me academically – at least, that was how I saw it and that was also how I pitched it to both of my folks. They, on the other hand, seemed concerned that the age difference would further isolate me from my peers.

The sheer amount of tongue biting I had to engage in order to keep from saying something disparaging about ‘peers’ and ‘mental age’ should have won me awards. My metaphorical trophies would be covered in Lisa Frank stickers and glitter. I designed them in my head while they talked over their decision and tried to remind myself that, as a thirteen-year-old, it was expected that my parents would make most life-altering decisions for me, in spite of the fact that I didn’t feel like a teen most of the time. I also reminded myself that I actually _did_ trust these two to make the best possible decisions for me. They were good parents, they loved me, and they wanted me to be happy, healthy, and successful.

I wasn’t surprised when they agreed to one skipped year, but not two.

In January, I started my first semester of high school and it was – honestly it was more of the same. The classes were slightly more interesting, but I was still very quiet and shy and refrained from interacting with my new ‘peers.’ Puberty was still enacting a horrific mind screw on my entire existence. Next year, sophomore year, maybe I would try and branch out a little. For now, I was content with my schoolwork and my language goals. I had set myself the goal of attempting to learn French along with the German, because why not? Still couldn’t speak either worth a darn, but my reading was coming along nicely.

The school year ended and my yearly trip to Charlie's was looming large, only a week away.

The timeline I kept had a large question mark over the span from my thirteenth birthday to my fifteenth.  Somewhere in there, the Cullens moved to Forks.  Somewhere in there, the first of the Pack shifted into a wolf. IMS stopped visiting Forks before that question mark, but I would be heading there smack dab in the middle of it.  I didn't know for sure if there would be vampires in town and werewolves (shapeshifters, technically) on the Rez. But I also didn't know for sure if there wouldn't.  I was, theoretically, taking my life in my hands by visiting Forks.

 _If_ the vampires were there and _if_ I was Edward's singer and _if_ -

But I'd decided, almost a year ago now, that I couldn't live my live or make my choices based on a bunch of 'ifs.'

I went to Forks.


	8. That Which We Call

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The springboard point for any possible spin-offs that are NOT Bella/Edward will come in the next chapter or two.
> 
> Thus far I am leaning towards an Imprinting offshoot featuring either Bella/Paul or Bella/Sam and a f/f offshoot featuring Bella/Kate (or I could be convinced to make it Bella/Garret/Kate if that was preferred).

It took two days of me silently hanging around Charlie’s before he kicked me out to go to the library. He would have sent me off down to the Rez, but Rachel and Rebecca were dragging their father (and poor Jacob) off to start scoping out colleges.  I would have been more impressed by their planning if I didn’t know that it would come at the expense of their relationships with their father and brother.  If what I remembered of the books was anywhere near accurate, neither of the twins would willingly step foot back on the Rez once they were able to leave it.  I still didn’t understand how anyone could or would willingly abandon a loving family, but I was on the outside looking in, I had no idea what their home situation felt like from their perspective.  I tried to refrain from being too judgmental.

Not sure how well I succeeded, but I tried.

I was tense at the library. I’d found a seat at a computer that allowed me to face the main entrance and I swear I flinched every time the door opened.  After an hour or so of jumps and jerks, I realized that I was being ridiculous.  There had to be a way for me to figure out whether or not the Cullens were here yet.  Asking around was not an option, it would be too suspicious by a mile.  It wasn’t like I could expect them to take out an ad in the newspaper announcing their entrance to the town, and I wasn’t prepared to hunt through back-issues of the local paper regardless.  It took me an embarrassingly long amount of agonizing before it occurred to me that I could check the hospital’s website and look at the staffing information.  Granted, it might not be entirely up-to-date, but by that point I was desperate for even the smallest of reassurances.

Much to my chagrin, I quickly realized that there were actually _three_ hospitals for Carlisle to choose from. Forks Community Hospital was more of a clinic than anything else, then there was an emergency hospital, the Olympic Medical Center, and finally there was Mason General.  The latter two were a bit more of a drive but I doubted that that would bother someone who _didn’t sleep_.  Just to be safe, I checked them all and found nada, zip, and zilch.  While that didn’t necessarily guarantee that they weren’t already here getting set up and preparing for their move, I allowed myself to relax.  I _probably_ had another year.  Mentally and physically exhausted by the way I’d been winding myself up over the potential danger; I forced myself to relax and let it go.

Which meant it was back to my studies. My goal was to be able to read Les Miserables in the original French.  It was a slightly whimsical goal born of my love for the musical.  My enjoyment of musical theater had come back when I remembered being Liz, blending easily with my love of cheesy pop music and sedate classical as Bella.  I was slowly easing Renee into an appreciation for musicals by way of Mamma Mia! and similar shows.  Once I’d converted her, I planned to start on Charlie - who would be a much harder sell - with shows like Rock of Ages and Jersey Boys.  I wasn’t holding my breath on this one, but it was sort of a long-term project.

One thing I hadn’t counted on during this trip was that my puberty woes would be obviously apparent to the boys. My rack wasn’t really impressive to me - I was a petite B-cup right now, whereas in my past life I’d rocked a DD - but boobs were boobs and when I hugged Jacob and co. to say ‘hello’ they all stared at me like I’d done a magic trick.  Abracaboobra!  It didn’t help that my growth spurt made me taller than them.  Granted, it was just by a few inches, but still.  I tried not to lord it over them since I knew that they’d catch up and surpass me soon enough.

Another thing I hadn’t counted on was the fact that I would go from Bella, their cool _older_ friend to Bella, their cool older _girl_ friend.  The space was important, and not just because they were nearly two years younger than me physically and close to twenty years younger mentally.  I had less than no desire to deal with the whole Bella + Jacob mess that had happened in the S. Meyer novels.  I subtly and not-so-subtly reinforced that I saw them as little brothers and friends and - with the judicious use of looser, stolen t-shirts, it took me about a week to settle into being Bella, their cool older girl _friend_ with a surprising knack for video games and horrific propensity for bruises.

This last was kind of funny because it was like once they realized I was an actualfacts _girl_ , they couldn’t _unsee_ it.  Now they seemed concerned when I fell and scraped up my arms, or when our roughhousing ended in bruises.  It was adorable right _now_ , but since I could easily see it developing into something _obnoxious_ down the line, I tried to nip it in the bud by patronizing the shit out of them until their concern turned into exasperation.

“I’m so sorry, Bells! I didn’t mean - are you okay?” Jacob asked after one such incident, big brown eyes anxious.

I scrubbed my knuckles over his head, mussing his long hair and inwardly reveling in the fact that I was tall enough to noogie him (for now). “Aw, you worried about likkle ol’ me, Jakie-poo?” I simpered, affecting the most babying, condescending tone I could manage.  “I do declare,” I continued, now slipping into an exaggerated southern drawl and pressing the back of one wrist to my forehead.  “Truly these injuries have done me a mischief, why I may faint!”  I let my body slump to one side, towards Embry and Quil, knowing one - or both - of them would spring to catch me.

It was both, this time.

“Such big strong _men_ ,” I cooed up at them, reaching up and chucking both their chins.

Embry and Quil exchanged a look before dropping me simultaneously.

“Okay, that kind of hurt,” I said from my new position on the ground.

“Suck it up, Bella,” Quil said, “you can take it.”

“Oh look, you _can_ be taught!” I commented, scrambling back to my feet with a hand from Embry.  I yanked him closer to me to clap him on the shoulder since he still looked kind of worried - though I knew he wouldn’t say anything.

“I just don’t like it when you get hurt,” Jacob said stubbornly.

I rolled my eyes at him. “ _Life_ hurts, Jakie-poo.  You gonna follow me around forever, kissing all my boo-boos?  I’m fine, you’re fine.  You ever hurt me on purpose and you can apologize on bended knee if it makes you feel better, but little stuff like this?  I’m not so easy to break.”

“I dunno,” Quil threw in, “breakable is a pretty good word for it. You do look kind of like one of those china dolls Jake’s sisters used to play with.”  His face lit up and I knew that I was going to _hate_ whatever came out of his mouth next: “China Doll!  That’s it, you’re a China Doll!”

“Non, nein, and _nyet_ \- I refuse that nickname on general principle,” I said firmly, but it was too late. Embry and Jacob both had shit-eating grins to match Quil’s and I realized that there was no way I was going to get them to let this go.  “I hate you all, _so much_.”

I’d like to say that the new nickname was the most bothersome part of my visit to Charlie.

I’d _like_ to say that.

But one week before I was to head home, while sitting in the library, the door opened and in walked trouble in the form of the most beautiful being I’d ever seen before in _either_ of my lives up till that point.  I was still in the habit of facing the door, even if I’d ruled out the Cullens arriving that summer.  Ruled it out a little too quickly, I discovered, because that Wednesday one Rosalie Hale walked into the library, met my eyes, and my life would never be the same again.

I recognized her at once because, really, there was nobody else that it could possibly be. She was heart-stoppingly gorgeous of course: platinum blonde hair, pale gold eyes, flawless face and form, but the thing that truly stopped me in my tracks wasn’t any of that, it was a sudden, visceral feeling, something I’d never felt before.  I sat there, staring at her, trying to quantify the feeling to myself, trying to make sense of this bizarre urge to walk over and - and _hug_ her.

_Hug_ her!

_Rosalie Hale!_

A _vampire!_

But I looked at her, and I just - it was like one of those tumblrisms where someone took a character or some vaguely anthropomorphized object and declared “_______ is shaped like a friend.” I looked at Rosalie and everything in me screamed that she was _family_ , that she was my _sister_.  I had missed my siblings _so much_ and to see somebody that my entire nervous system was insisting was _close_ and _familiar_ and _trustworthy_ was overwhelming.  I was out of my seat and walking towards her before my higher reasoning could kick in.

I got within three feet of her before I realized that 1) she hadn’t moved, not even to breath, since she’d laid eyes on me and 2) she was staring at me with utter shock on her perfect features.

“Hi,” I said, habitual politeness making me hold out a hand for her to shake, “my name is Bella.”

She looked down at my hand, then back to my face. Her mouth screwed up like she was about to say something and then - in a literal blink - she was _gone_.

I stood there, hand still outstretched, staring at the place where she’d been, for what felt like a brief eternity while my brain rebooted. I had no idea what the hell had just happened, but as my mind caught up with the past few moments my legs turned to jelly and I stumbled to the nearest seat.  My hands pressed flat to my thighs, my forehead pressed to the table in front of me, I tried to make sense of my actions.  Stupid thought they were they were sort of understandable?  Maybe?  Vampiric allure was _supposed_ to be devastating.  But somehow I doubted that that was what had happened if only because it didn’t account for _Rosalie’s_ actions.

She’d stared at me like - like -

I don’t even know.

I had had my first run-in with a Cullen and it was nothing like what I had expected. I’d been left with far more questions than I’d started with, but two were pressing enough to set my teeth clenching and my nails digging into the skin just below my shorts:

1) If that was how I reacted to _Rosalie_ , the vampire that IMS had had the _worst_ relationship with, then what the _hell_ would happen when I saw the rest of them?!

And, for some bizarre reason my brain was insisting that this was the more important question:

2) Would I see Rosalie again before heading home?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My first major change to canon - thoughts?


	9. Overtures and Overwhelmed

I ended up back in the library again the next overcast day, partially out of habit and partially out of hope. I was _actively hoping_ that I would see a vampire. Specifically, I was hoping that I would see Rosalie Hale Cullen, the most beautiful and bitchiest (per S. Meyer) of all of the named and introduced vampires in the Saga. If what had happened yesterday was a taste of normal, average, run-of-the-mill vampiric allure… then I was, quite frankly, terrified of what might happen when I met Edward.

The vampire that was IMS’s _mate_ in the S. Meyer books.

Then again, I couldn’t really remember if the whole ‘mate’ thing was some weird, instantaneous connection, or if it progressed like a normal relationship, and then because vampires didn’t _change_ (per S. Meyer’s canon), then once they fell in love, they didn’t fall out of it, ergo ‘mates.’ Actually, thinking about that a little, it made not a lick of sense. People fell in love with more than one person over the course of their lives, and you could be in love with more than one person at once. Add in the sheer lifespan of a vampire, effectively immortal, and take it to its natural conclusion. If the whole ‘mates’ thing was the second option and just based on normal relationships then you’d end up with polyamorous vampire covens and –

I lowered my head down to rest beside the keyboard. _How is this my life?_ I was sitting in a library trying to figure out how vampire relationships worked because either I had an inexplicable and potentially mystical(?) bond with the vampire I had assumed would _least_ like me, or vampires were so inescapably alluring that I might as well serve myself up on a silver platter as soon as I locked eyes on Edward.

I groaned quietly to myself and sat up. Thinking about all of this was giving me a headache and making me question my life choices. Granted, I clearly needed to set aside some time for some soul-searching, but the library in the middle of Forks was not the place for that. This was the place for learning and –

“Hello,” a soft, musical voice said from somewhere to my right.

_Oh holiest of fucks._ I turned my head and found an angel sitting two seats down at another computer. Rosalie was even more beautiful up close and sitting still instead of sprinting away from me like I wore the sigil of the Volturi. Her eyes were a brilliant gold that caught the light and seemed almost to sparkle, and she was staring straight at _me_.

I still had a bizarre urge to climb over the chairs between us and hug her like my life depended on it. Instead of doing something that stupid (and potentially life-threatening), I smiled. “Hi,” I said, and then _because I am a moron_ , “not going to run away this time?”

Her eyes skittered away from me immediately, towards the wall at my back. “I didn’t _run_ ,” she said, sounding a bit stiff.

“You walked into the library, took one look at me, and then left,” I pointed out. “I didn’t think I was that scary.” _Said the human to the vampire. What the hell is wrong with me?_ This was, quite literally, the worst possible circumstance for my habitual bluntness to win the day, and yet – “I’m a foot shorter than you, pretty sure you could take me,” I said, and the height thing was an exaggeration, but it didn’t feel like much of one. She had at least six inches on me – she was taller than I had been in my past life.

I may have been a bit envious.

Why on god’s green earth, was I _teasing the vampire?_ I was acting with her… like I would have with my siblings, goddamnit. _Goddamnit_. And also _what the fuck_. And _why_ the fuck. I had curtailed my language, both within my head and without, since the potty mouth of a twenty-six year old wasn’t exactly a charming or appropriate affectation for a twelve-year-old. I was nearly fourteen now and had almost kicked the habit, guess stress was bringing it out in me.

Rosalie was now frowning at me. “I’m Rosalie,” she said instead of addressing my questions.

“Well, there goes my first guess,” I said. “I thought you might be allergic to introductions.”

She cracked a smile at that, flashing perfect white teeth. “Not a bad guess.”

“I’m Bella, but you already knew that.”

“Yes, I remember.”

It wasn’t that I didn’t have things to say to her, it was more that I had _too many_. This inexplicable feeling of closeness which I didn’t understand and hadn’t invited made me want to talk to her about all manner of things, most of which were nowhere near appropriate discourse for someone I’d exchanged barely fifty words with.

“What are you studying?” she asked me abruptly.

“Oh, this?” I darted a look back at my computer screen and was thankful that she hadn’t asked on one my of ‘figure out how vampires have affected history’ research days. “I’m trying to teach myself French, it’s… well, it’s going.”

“I’m taking French,” she said. Everything she said sounded, not quite forced but almost as if the words were being pushed out of her. Was she _shy?_

I gave her a long look. It was actually difficult to gauge her age. She was ridiculously perfect looking, but while her body was definitely that of an adult, her face was so symmetric and unlined that she might have passed for anything from a teenager to a thirty-something with an excellent plastic surgeon. That leant a little more credibility to the whole ‘if we start early we can stay somewhere longer’ thing. Plus, if I wasn’t horribly mistaken, she was wearing make-up, and I would bet that it helped tremendously with the whole ‘faking ages’ thing.  I circumvented the whole 'asking the vampire how old she is' thing by going with, “What grade are you in?”

“I’m going to be a sophomore,” she said.

This was too good of an opportunity. “In college?” I asked her innocently.

She ducked her head as if embarrassed. “High school,” she corrected.

“Me too!”

“Really?” It was Rosalie’s turn to eye me up.

Since I wasn’t planning on heading to the Rez, I’d pulled my hair up into a tight bun. Between that, my baggy t-shirt (stolen from Charlie), and the bright yellow shorts and flip-flops, I probably looked at least two years younger than my actual physical age. I couldn’t exactly blame her for her incredulity, but it still stung. I missed being tall. I missed it _so much_. At this age, as Liz, I’d been pushing 5’9.

“I skipped a grade,” I admitted grudgingly. “I’m thirteen, I’ll be fourteen in September.”

“We – my family and I – just moved here, do you go to Forks High?” she asked. She sounded hopeful, but her eyes were remote.

I wondered if she was asking me because she wanted to _know_ , or if it was just polite.  Actually, why was she here talking to me in the first place?  Was she trying to throw off suspicion after her weird behavior the day before?  Was this weird pull I felt, whatever it was, _reciprocated?_  I forcibly pulled my brain back to the present.  Tabling the question of her motives for now, I shook my head. “Just visiting,” I said, smiling lopsidedly. “I actually live with my mom in Phoenix most of the time. I come here in the summer to be with my dad.” _Jesus, Bella, why don’t you give her your address, social security number, and blood type while you’re at it?_

Rosalie sat back in her seat and made a show of looking around before raising a brow at me in clear inquiry.

“No, he's not here.  He’s the police chief, I come here during the day sometimes when I’m bored,” I explained. “We hang out more on the weekends, but in the meantime it’s – “ I tilted my head toward my computer screen. “You said you moved with your family?”

She nodded.

“Do you have any siblings?” I pressed.

“Brothers, and a sister.”

“Must be nice,” I said, and my wistfulness was entirely sincere. I missed my brothers and sisters with a fierceness that had not dulled with time. It’s what made it so hard to hold back, here and now, with her. This was a little awkward, but it felt so much like talking with –

“Are you okay?” Rosalie asked, sitting forward again. Her hand was half-raised, as if she was going to reach out and – I don’t even know – hug me? Did vampires hug?

I shook my head. “Yes, no, sorry – I’m fine. Just… a little jealous,” I told her. “I don’t have any siblings. What grades are they in?”

“We’re all sophomores except Alice and Edward,” she said, still watching me with concern.

My eyebrows shot up and my shock was entirely real, albeit probably not for the reasons she would assume. I already knew that all of the Cullen kids were adopted. I hadn’t really thought about the fact that me moving up a grade meant that Edward was now a year _behind_ me. I mentally shelved that thought to ponder later. “Multiples?” I asked her, perfectly reasonably.

“I have a twin, but all of us were adopted by Dr. Cullen and his wife. No blood relations,” she divulged.

Almost anything I could think of to say in response to that would either be hopelessly awkward or potentially invasive. I opted to change the subject entirely. “So what brought you to the library today?”

“You,” she said bluntly, ducking her head again when I gaped at her. “I was… rude, yesterday. I wanted to apologize –“

“Accepted,” I interjected.

She froze, and I do mean _froze_ , for a few seconds. “Thank you,” she said carefully. “I also,” she paused and licked her lips. “I also wanted to know if you – that is – I don’t know very many people in town –“

“Technically speaking, I don’t know if I would consider myself part of the _town_ , per se,” I said, wrinkling my nose at the thought of claiming Forks as my own, or being claimed by them. “But I take your meaning. I… I could always use a friend,” I said. “Assuming that was where you were headed with that, I mean.”

Rosalie nodded, smiling tentatively.

“Okay, new friend – you said you were taking French, any chance you could help me with my pronunciation?”

“ _Oui, mon ami._ ”

* * *

 

“Bells? You okay?”

I’d been staring at the wall and ceiling intermittently since my library trip, off in my own little world, and, truth be told, _no_. No, I was not okay. “Fine, dad,” I said, instead of any of the hundreds of more truthful and more alarming responses scurrying through my brain. “Just… tired. I think I’m going to go to bed early tonight.” Sudden warmth covering the top half of my face had me squawking and flailing, trying to dislodge the hand that now encompassed my head from my hairline to my nostrils.

“You don’t feel like you’ve got a fever…”

“Dad! I’m fine! Just tired, I swear.”

He pursed his lips. “All right, Bells. Maybe you should take a break from the books, go see the boys instead. You only have a few more days anyways, and you can study when you get home.”

“I ne – _want_ one more library day, tomorrow, and then sure.”

He squinted at me, his dad and cop radars probably both going crazy. “We’ll see,” he said grudgingly. “If you’re better tomorrow, fine.”

Knowing it was the best I was going to get, I nodded and headed to my room. As soon as my back hit the mattress my mind was off again, running in bunny trail circles around the thought: I made friends with a vampire today.

I **_made friends_** with a vampire today.

**_I_ ** made friends with a vampire today.

I made friends with **_a vampire_** today.

What will tomorrow bring?

**Author's Note:**

> Please let me know what you liked, or didn't like, as well as what you'd like to see more (or less!) of in future chapters.


End file.
